Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. God must love me, for he has guided me here. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps.
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